Full Share (Shore House Book 1) (3 page)

When I woke up, Heather was shaking out her towel, throwing sand in my face. Tank was nowhere to be found. The box of donuts was gone as well. In fact, almost everyone was gone. The sun dipped low over the dune; the air had cooled off. I thought how nice it would be to stay here alone with Rob.

But Rob couldn't stand to be alone. Most of his college visits had taken place when Blaire was otherwise occupied. Even when she was present, there had to be ten other people around to satisfy him. Intimacy was foreign to him. He was the party, in all its glory, and he owed it to his people to be present among them. His need for recognition was the cause of Blaire’s unending misery. A hardship that was impossible to manage and a source of constant lingering doubt about her position in his life.

Rob's appetite for attention never bothered me. I wasn’t supposed to be the center of his world. The very first night he’d slept in my dorm, while we ate cheese fries and drank from a bottle of Jameson he’d stolen from his dad’s house, he confessed he hated to be alone. When he fell asleep in my bed, I wondered which of us was worse off. The one who was terrified to be alone or the one who lived her entire life that way.

I couldn’t dwell on that. Not then and not now. I pushed myself up and shook the sand off the sheet before climbing the dune back to the road. The house closest to the ocean was deserted. The windows were shut, the driveway was empty, and not a light shone from the rooms. It was beautiful and empty.

What a waste.

Ours was on the Bay side of Swedes Street, where there were no curbs or sidewalks. I cut across the grass and climbed the three brick stairs of the front stoop before opening the screeching screen door into the living room. There were bodies everywhere in different states of dress, or undress, depending on the individual's position in the shower line. Rob lounged on the love seat with Blaire draped across him, her eyes finding mine before the door slammed shut behind me.

“Blaire, you’re up!” a guy called as he exited the bathroom wrapped in a towel, and Blaire's concern rested on me as if I’d steal Rob’s affection while she conditioned her perfect hair. Rob didn't seem to notice either of us. Blaire's demotion to my equal struck a chord of sympathy in me.

“I should unpack,” I said and smiled at her before exiting through the kitchen and onto the porch. The towel-draped guy from the bathroom was staring out the wall of windows when I walked in.

“Oh, hey,” he said, turning to me with the easy smile of someone who generally liked people.

“Hey,” I said dryly, demonstrating I was the opposite of him.

“I'm Jack Randall.” He held out his hand, and I stared at it until he started laughing, and then I shook it.

“Are you one of the half shares?” I asked as he kept shaking my hand.

“No. I'm a full share, but twins were involved in my room, and you know how that goes.”

“Sure.” I had no idea what he was talking about.

“So, we're going to be together all summer.” His eyes never left my hand as I took it back and returned it to my side. I felt as naked as he was standing before me still dripping. His chest and stomach were hard and already tan. He was at least eight inches taller than me, even without shoes. His comfortable nature made me uncomfortable immediately.

“Are you from Maryland, too?” I asked, running from the center of his attention.

“Of course. And you . . .” Jack dipped his head, waiting for something from me. I let my head follow his until I caught on that he wanted my name.

“Nora,” I divulged.

“Nora.” He nodded his head, pleased with the information. “Not a big sharer, are you, Nora?”

“I'm an open book.” I laughed until I realized I was the only one who really got the joke. Jack watched me as if I’d been brought into the house solely for his enjoyment.

Without a word, he spun his finger in a circle asking me to turn around. I did as I was instructed and faced the windows. “So where are you from, Nora?” he asked. I could hear him moving about behind me.

“I live in Wilmington.”

“And what do you do in Wilmington?”

I should have left the room when he’d first asked me to turn around. Now I was trapped by his nakedness. “I work at an insurance company. You?”

“I’m a teacher.”

“Please tell me you’re not a French teacher,” I said before I could check myself.

His light laughter broke through my resentment of my mother that hadn’t dissipated in five years. “Something against the French?”

“They’re not our allies.” I stared out the window at the beach towels strung across the clothes line.

“Well, you’ll be happy to know I teach history. During the summer I work for a builder down here.” A University of Vermont beach towel blew up and off the line.

“Can you build us some walls for our room?” I asked, and Jack came and stood in front of me, leaving mere inches between us. He was still shirtless and smelled clean. His easy smile promised a fresh start.

“I could, but I think it’s going to get hot in here this summer.” His smile disappeared. The look in his eyes stole my breath. I sunk deep into his stare and forgot to not care. “We might need the windows for air.”

My eyes fell to his lips, and a chill danced across my hot skin.

Jack pushed the unruly strands of hair off my face and then reached behind me and gathered it all into a ponytail in his hand. He twisted it, his body even closer now with his arms up near my face, and pulled it around and rested it on my shoulder. “That’s better.”

I focused on breathing. He was right. It was so much better.

“Nora—” Rob started as he stepped onto the porch, surprised by Jack’s and my proximity. He took a half second to scrutinize Jack and me before an annoyed expression replaced his usual carefree one. “You’re up for the shower.” His eyes darted from Jack to me again. “You should get in there while you can.”

Jack was unaffected. He was enjoying the tension. Rob was never jealous. Certainly not of me, but not once had I let a guy close enough for anyone to be jealous. My mother predicted I’d act out sexually to rebel against her soiled authority, but I’d promised myself I’d never meet her expectations again. I was safe and careful and discerning. Three things that she was not. She’d taught me at an early age that sex had nothing to do with love.

“Thanks,” I said to both of them and then grabbed my bath basket, towel, and a long dress for the night. I walked past Rob as satisfaction replaced displeasure in his eyes.

I showered faster than an inmate on her first day in prison. To free up the bathroom, I left my hair and makeup to do on my porch. I found my compact and propped it against the window. While kneeling on my mattress, I could see one square inch of my face at a time.

Jack was lying on his own mattress, shirtless. His eyes were closed, and I pretended he wasn’t there. I assumed I’d spend most of my summer the same way.

The sounds of a beer pong game set up on the kitchen table burst onto our porch at different intervals, but Jack made no move to join the rest of our group. He just laid there looking fantastic. With one arm behind his head and his biceps in my face. Not really, but it felt that way. “Where did you grow up?”

“Huh?” I sighed. We were really going to do this conversation thing.

“You said you
live
in Wilmington. That’s not where you’re from?”

I silently cursed him for listening. “Pennsylvania.”

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Jack walked over and plopped himself on my mattress next to me. My makeup spilled from the insufficient bag that held it in the first place.

I placed the fallen eyeshadows in a stack on the window sill.

“What’s your last name?”

I knew we’d come to this. My left eye stared back at me from the miniscule mirror in front of me. “Hargrove,” fell from my lips.

“Nora Hargrove.” He dragged out the last syllables of both my names. He was searching his mind for the reference. I thought there might be a chance, considering his age, that he wouldn’t recognize the name. “Isn’t that the woman who writes all the romance novels?”

“Yep.” I dabbed the turquoise moon dust shadow over my eye the same way the woman who’d sold it to me had done.

“Is your mom a big fan?”

I laughed. I couldn’t help myself. The idea of my mother reading a romance novel was absurd. Almost as absurd as me living months on a back porch to avoid her. “She’d never heard of her.” I turned to Jack as the confusion set in.

“How could she not know?”

“My mother believes nonfiction is the only genre of books worth reading. She’d never heard of Nora Hargrove when she picked the name.” I returned to the task of my eyeshadow. “I think on some buried level she still blames my father for the bitter irony.”

Jack moved back so he was leaning against the half wall I had my compact set on. “And what about you? What do you think of romance novels?” He was really never going to stop. This conversation, or avoiding covering his chest with fabric.

“They’re fine.” I kept my voice light, hoping to end this exchange and all the future ones he might attempt.

Jack smiled and shook his head. He was annoyed with me, but not enough to leave me alone. Not yet. “What’s your favorite part?” He raised his eyebrows, challenging me.

I searched for the answer that would end this conversation. “The beginning.”

“You don’t like the endings?”

“Don’t they all end the same?” I asked, and Jack stared at me confused. “Happy?”

“Do you have something against happy endings?”

I rummaged through my memories for a happy ending. Some fairy tale connected to my existence.

Jack ran his fingers down the side of my face and pushed my wet hair off my neck. I inhaled deeply to bury the chill his touch left in its wake. “Feel that?”

I shook my head ever so slightly, and he smiled again.

“Maybe we should move the beds together.” He was enjoying himself, and I was the wrong person to entertain himself with.

I found my mascara and applied it without peeking his way.

“It’s going to be a long summer for you to have to deal with all this
tension
on our porch.”

“And not for you?”

He stood and said, “I believe in happy endings,” as he walked out of the room.

IT’S OKAY . . . WE ALL LIKE HIM

B
y the time we made it to the Starboard, there was a line. Besides having to pee, I knew the fresh air was preferable to being inside the packed bar on the first weekend of summer. Tank was bending down to step inside the doorway of the Starboard. He was at the front of our line and the first one in. The bouncers checked the IDs of the few half shares behind him, and they all disappeared inside. The rest of us waited for what seemed like an eternity.

Rob was only a few feet from me with Blaire practically stuck to his side. He waved his arms as he told a story to a few of the half shares next to them. The girls’ skirts were short, but their attention spans were long, at least where Rob was concerned. They laughed when he directed them to and stayed quiet through the important parts.

Having witnessed Rob’s effect on people for four straight years in college, it had finally lost its mystery to me. I’d accepted that he was a magnet, constantly connecting. He was the only person who made me believe I was okay. He could make a person believe anything. Even when he was wrong, I wanted him to be right. Rob was the sun the rest of us rotated around. Except for Blaire. She was adhered to the side of him.

Jack stood six people behind me. He was quiet and patient as he listened to two other guys talk about baseball. The way he crossed his arms over his chest brought him an air of maturity, but the tight fabric against his shoulders stole any compliments from my mind not related to his body. He glanced over and winked at me. Before I could act like I had no idea what he meant, he was engrossed back in his conversation.

A large group stumbled out of the bar, and finally, the rest of us were allowed in. While my housemates headed to the bartender, I found the bathroom and stood in line there, too. Heather walked up and tried to cut the line. The sweet girl behind us told her to “Fuck off” and to move her “Skinny ass to the back.” I was then lucky enough to stand in front of her for the rest of my wait while Heather yelled obscenities like a child from the back of the line. She was belligerent and she was loud.

When I exited the bathroom, I walked in the opposite direction of her. Avoiding Heather was the only safe decision for the rest of the night. The first thing I learned after I met her was that there was always a time of the night when Heather switched from fun and outrageous to an all-out liability. She became impossible to talk to and even harder to reason with, which earned her the nickname Heather Hyde.

Tank waved at me over the mass of people between us. He held up a beer and beckoned me to him with a nod of his head.

I inched through the crowd. Bodies separated only by clothes surrounded me as I pushed one leg forward and then followed it with the rest of my body. A tall girl got in front of me, and I followed in her wake the last ten feet to Tank, who pulled me into a hug.